And so it begins...

Couth says, "That sounds close." as he now quickly moves to get his chain shirt on. And looks as he is going to be making a hasty move out of the wagon soon.

Ashtar peered into the fog. "Howling wolves in the mist. An ominous beginning."

Having tried to stay awake, yet fall asleep, Alyria was disturbed to wake up to the startling news about the fog that surrounded them. While it still sent warning alarms in her mind, she too had drifted back off with the news that it could fool the mind. Now, awake once again to the sound of a pack, she was attempting to be alert for what was happening. Dragging her sword closer to her, she muttered, "I do not like this.
Something is wrong but I know not what. I feel it though."

Unsettled and feeling smaller than ever, Briar hunted herself a corner of the wagon where she could feel relatively unseen, attempting to secure herself enough to sleep with reasonable assurance she will remain safely stowed.

Briar drifted off at some point, she found, as she awoke with a jolt in the new day’s dawn. The harmony of haunted hounds heralding the hidden sun sent the fairy’s blood running cold and she searched for clarity beyond the wagon, peering meekly beyond the safety of her makeshift nest bed.

WIS Save DC 8. Priestly Couth saves with a 19 as he is busy arming himself. Which he probably doesn't have enough time to do it.

Ashtar stared into the fog, seeing hazy movements out there. Or it seemed they were moving—there! For a moment something emerged, or was it his imagination? And then it was swallowed up by the fog once more, and the shadows turned hazy, losing focus…

Ashtar slumped to the floor.

Emerging from the wagon's cloth tarp cover, the party is met with an unsettling revelation: the fog has withdrawn, but visibility extends only to the eerie edge of the woods. Suddenly, a cacophony erupts as dozens upon dozens of wolves snarl and stampede from the lingering mist, surrounding the wagon on both sides. These wild, vicious hounds maliciously nip and bite at the wagon wheels, their intent chillingly deliberate, sparing the vehicle from harm.

Ashtar, Briar, and Couth, fixated on the approaching horde, bear witness to something deeply disturbing. In fleeting moments, they swear to observe wolves grotesquely tearing off their own flesh, morphing into monstrous hybrids of human and wolf. Yet, upon a second glance, the creatures revert to their lupine forms, leaving an unsettling ambiguity.

With his keen eyes, Ashtar scans the woods and locks gazes with a single obsidian black wolf, its immense size rivaling that of the wagons. The black wolf's piercing blood-red eyes seem to penetrate Ashtar's very soul, locking him in harrowing eye contact. Upon breaking free, Ashtar collapses unconscious into the wagon, his limp form now resting on Alyria's lap.

*Swoon*

Couth time of spreading the news of the Morning Lord has come to an end. Lathander priests are not chaste, but we have our ways.

His further time will be spent in chain shirt with a handaxe in his hands across his legs as he sits. He may or may not be awake doing so.

A dreadful sensation fills Briar’s core, the horrific nausea kindled by sights of the inconceivable. The fairy looks from one to another face among her traveling party in search of some sense of security. Finding not as much as she would like, she observes the old man at the helm.

"Where are we?" she demands of him, keeping her eyes fixated on his posture and potential expressions.

The old man has a straight face as the wagons steadily roll forward. He chuckles and yells over the wolves. "THIS IS HOME!!! WE JUST ENTERED THE OUTSKIRTS OF BAROVIA!!! THAT IS JUST THE WELCOMING PARTY!"

Balls to the walls. Couth isn't at all happy with the welcoming party and losing the rest of his night's sleep over it too. He hazards to think of how these lands around here must be. But hold his guard over the wagon he is in. How much belladonna and silver can be had comes to mind. He had heard the tales and life is real. Says a quiet prayer and probably needs a lot more of them.

He does talk some with those in the wagon about what he just experienced.

The thunderous stampede of wolves relentlessly pursues the caravan of wagons, stretching an agonizing 15 minutes that feel like an eternity, their ceaseless barking drowning out any attempts at conversation. The colossal black wolf, once an ominous presence, now strangely evaporates into nothingness. Despite the visceral fear, the wolves neither harm the wagons nor attack any caravan members.

As the fog spills forth from the encroaching forest, devouring the road behind, ominous stone buttresses emerge from the impenetrable woods, draped in gray obscurity. Massive iron gates, rusted and adorned with tenacious dew, loom ahead. Headless stone statues, once imposing, now lie in ruin at their feet, offering only a chilling silence. A solitary black raven perches atop one of the headless monuments.

Approaching the statues and gates, the wolves abruptly cease their chase, vanishing back into the depths of the woods. Just as the caravan nears the decrepit gates, they swing open with an unearthly creak. The lone raven, perched on the headless statue, takes flight, adding an eerie touch to the unfolding scene.

The caravan safely crosses under stone statues and through the gate.